Killing Me Softly
by Silver Maze
Summary: It is the night after John's wedding. John left, and the flat is empty. Sherlock contemplates whether he can erase John from his memroy.


Disclaimer: I don't own BBC Sherlock

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**Killing Me Softly**

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The air is chilly, and everything is silent.

The click- sound of a key unlocking the door rings out unusually loudly.

The door opens with a groan. John will complain about this for sure, Sherlock's thought automatically and naturally reaches to that man. He closes his eyes. The hand retrieving the key is pale. He knows that he is just trying to avoid the inevitable, taking time to not go into the house. It is ridiculous, because it _is_ his home. He takes one step into 221B. The door closes behind him heavily.

It is dark inside the house. It's nothing surprising. There is no one here. Mrs. Hudson didn't even get to attend John's wedding, because her sister in Cardiff had just went gravely sick few days ago. John, I'm sorry, I really wanted to go, the kind old lady had said so while holding John's hand. No, I understand, family comes first, John had also replied in return with his kind smile. At that moment, Sherlock had thought about saying that he couldn't go to the wedding either, because he had to go help Mycroft, who had fallen ill because of his great workload. Maybe John would faint upon hearing such words falling out of Sherlock's mouth, thus postponing the wedding.

Sherlock shakes his head at that memory. He is losing his mind for sure. He had regretted that his relationship with Mycroft was not good enough to give such excuses. If it isn't evidence for madness, he doesn't know what is.

Sherlock climbs up the stairs without even turning on the light. Seventeen stairs, six steps forward, three steps to the right; he is so accustomed to this place that he doesn't even have to see with his eyes. He limply falls down on the coach. He feels like a collapsed war victim. His hand slips close to the floor. Sherlock feels like his coach is draining him of his energy, making him sink bonelessly into it. Everything feels so far away. His eyelids are too heavy. He closes his eyes.

The wedding is over.

Honestly, he doesn't know how he stood the whole ceremony. He didn't just _bear_ thorough it, either, he _smiled _thorough it. He gave out empty words of congratulation while forcing his expression to say he really did mean his word. He's pretty sure he fooled John quite successfully. He did have a lot of time to prepare since John threw the bomb saying, I want you to be my best man, your blessing would mean the most to me.

John mustn't have known what those words would mean to Sherlock. At least, that's what Sherlock wants to believe; that John really is just ignorant of his feelings, that he wasn't cruel enough to tell Sherlock to congratulate his wedding wholeheartedly, fully aware of how Sherlock felt for him. Sherlock repeatedly tells himself that.

Sherlock's eyes slit open in the darkness. The interior of 221B swims through his vision hazily. The flat is empty. John had been successful in moving all his belongings to his new home with Sarah two days ago. Half of the bookshelves are empty. That's when Sherlock belatedly realizes that those books had belonged to John.

The chair that John always used to occupy is still left in the flat, since Sherlock did buy it in the first place. John, in his eternal kindness, left stuffs that John usually used but originally had been Sherlock's, and things that had no particular owner but Sherlock mainly used, at 221B.

Since Sherlock stopped distinguishing which one is whose and which one is not for a long time when it came to John(he doesn't know the exact moment he began to do this), he is amazed that John remembered all those things.

Maybe, John intended to leave soon from the very beginning.

The mug cup that only John was 'allowed' to use disappeared from the first day John started to pack. John had bought it after he had a shock of his life, namely finding human eyeballs staring at him in a cup of coffee that he had made in his sleep dazed state. It was a plain white cup that had bold black letters saying, 'Do not eyeball me!'. Sherlock has no idea even until now where in the world John found something like that. He remembers himself deciding to humour John for once and staying away from the said mug cup.

Sherlock breathes, slowly, and deeply. Although John took lot of his belongings, there are too many things that remind him of his ex-flat mate. Even things that are no longer here, hold his attention in their emptiness. It would be impossible to erase John from his memory as he had the solar system. John is too big a part of Sherlock's life. That fact is apparent, because even now, he is pathetically thinking about how many times John had been exasperated by the fact he didn't know something as simple and basic as solar system.

No, erasing John entirely would be impossible. Sherlock closes his eyes painfully. But maybe it would be possible to erase part of his memories with John, just enough, so that Sherlock would remember John as a good flatmate, and nothing more than that.

He blinks open his eyes and force his unwilling body to stand up. He goes toward the light switch with an awkward motion not unlike a clockwork doll. The light fills the flat. It is too bright. Sharp light starkly sheds upon the bare flat, cruelly making it impossible to hide its emptiness. What would be the first thing to forget about, Sherlock thinks after a long moment, looking around his home that looks like a total stranger's.

_I would be lost without my blogger. _

The memory of himself saying that pops into his mind. When he uttered those words, he had been sure that his blogger would never leave him. It was stupid. Where did that confidence come from? Sherlock walks toward the laptop that is shining black on the table.

John had once declared a war against Sherlock because his flatmate had kept changing his goddamn laptop password. By pure luck, John had succeeded in changing Sherlock's laptop password in retaliation. It took four days for Sherlock to solve that, which was amazing considering that his average record for correctly deducing the password had been 3 minutes and 47 seconds.

_MyDearIdiotFriend_

That was John's chosen password. It had been a week after John corrected Sherlock in front of Sebastian that he was a colleague, not a friend. Sherlock changed the password long enough to prove his victory, and changed it back to that particular one. His password is still the same.

Does he have to erase this memory? Sherlock contemplates as he changes his password. How much memories can one share with 'nothing but a good flatmate'? Sherlock doesn't know. He doesn't have any other experience out of John. Is it okay to leave small, everyday memories or would those be the ones that mean the most? Sherlock hesitates for a moment, but soon erases John's blog from his lists of bookmarks. He then goes to his own website, and slowly starts to deletes John's reply, links to John's blog, and any other things that are related to John. It is ridiculously ease to remove any trace of John from the internet.

Alright, Sherlock decides to start from the inconsequential things. He doesn't want to touch important memories, not yet. The skull on the fire place is staring at him with a blank look. It feels like it's chiding him for trying to rid his mind free of John. Don't look at me like that, Sherlock mutters in hollow voice, I want to live, too. John changed me so much. I can't just go back to the way I was before, as if nothing happe- He suddenly realizes that his mouth is monotonously moving, and makes himself from say no more. He doesn't know why he started to utter such things, it wouldn't benefit him in any way.

Sherlock raises his hand and put it on his mouth. He thinks about the mug cup that John took away. He tries to dilute the memories related to it; John telling him off for making human eyeballs lying around the kitchen (it's unsanitary, not to mention gory!), John sipping coffee in the morning, his hair completely unruly, and oddly looking like a child, John coming near to him during the investigation, asking 'did you find anything?' with the mug in his hand, and John, John, John….

The fact that the cup was not here helps a bit. He doesn't know how long it took to thin those memories. He thinks he even managed to fully erase few. He can't remember it for sure.

Sherlock Holmes falls asleep.

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AN: I've always been curious about what would have been going around inside Holmes' mind when Watson moved out of 221B, leaving him alone, and decided to write about it in BBC Sherlock version. I think writing 'Sherlock throwing tantrum at the news' would have been fun too, but I wanted to write more mature version of Sherlock letting John go. Still wondering whether to write sequel about this or leave it as it is.

Let me know anything you guys thought about while reading this fic XD Your reviews always make me happy!


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